


Ode to Joy

by Mynuet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Christmas Fluff, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, M/M, Musician Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynuet/pseuds/Mynuet
Summary: World-famous violinist Viktor Nikiforov and stressed-out student Yuuri Katsuki are both alone on Christmas, somewhere in America.  Viktor's impulsive decision to play his music on a street corner plaza draws them together.





	Ode to Joy

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine, since I don't know anyone in the fandom enough to pester them for a beta. I didn't specify a location because I didn't want to drive myself crazy researching somewhere that had a symphony _and_ a suitable location for events to happen, so we're just handwaving all that. 
> 
> It's my first foray into writing for this fandom, but I got the idea for it and it seemed easier to write it myself than to find someone taking prompts and making sad puppy eyes. Hopefully it's okay. :)

He was Viktor Nikiforov,world famous soloist, concertmaster, and multi-platinum selling artist. In minutes, he could have any number of people arrive at his hotel room, ready to tell him everything wonderful about himself, to praise him to the skies, and what would it mean?  He'd be as alone in a crowd as he was by himself.  More, because while they were busy praising him, he could never say a word of how empty he was, couldn't shatter their image of a superstar, the goal of what could happen for a classical musician despite the difficult conditions for them in a world of autotune and four-chord pop.  Any hint of his suspicion that his worth lay in his name rather than his talent would be shrugged off with voluble reassurances that did nothing to dispel the feeling.

 

No, the exhaustion of having to play the role of star was too much to contemplate, even if it meant there would be someone to help him eat the cake that had been delivered earlier in the evening.  The card attached was neatly typed, even the signature; Yakov had obviously arranged this in advance, despite the bad luck of early birthday celebrations.  "Let 27 be the year you finally let go of being an  _ enfant terrible  _ and decide to grow up."  

 

As if cultivating that image wasn't part of why he'd become famous, wealthy, rich enough to support an industry under the banner of his name. Yakov had profited well from Viktor being a "bad boy," even as he loudly disapproved of him and most of what he did.

 

Still, the cake looked delicious.  Singing absently to himself as he searched for a fork, he stopped abruptly as the lyrics gave him an idea.  The crocodile from the old cartoon had played an accordion, but Viktor could follow his example and play in front of everyone in the street.  Maybe it could even make him happy on this grey, drizzly day in a city he couldn't remember the name of, somewhere in America.

 

***

 

Yuuri didn't particularly mind Christmas, most years. He might be "forever alone," as the memes Mari sent him put it, but solitude let him concentrate.  Between keeping up with his studies and his dancing, putting in the time to be around people was too taxing.  

 

This year, though... He was only one semester away from graduating, and he had to make a definite decision about his future.  Or, rather, accept that it had already been made long ago, because how could he justify taking financial support from his parents to just be another anonymous member of the corps in the background?  

 

With his degree, he could go into physical therapy, and he could assist Minako with teaching as a way to stay in touch with the world of dance. And if he was disappointed, if he was disappointing everyone who'd cheered him on, it was better to accept it now, before he wasted any more time and money pursuing a career in ballet that would never happen.  At least he could go  _ home _ .

 

There'd be decorations.  His mom's Christmas cake, piled high with whipped cream, and the fried chicken she had started making from a book of fast food copycat recipes he'd sent her his first year living in the States.  Mari had said it was so good, some of the families in Hasetsu had started ordering it from there instead of from the KFC, but he hadn't gotten to try it yet.  He could cuddle with Vicchan and sit under the kotatsu and soak in the laughter and chatter of people who'd known him all his life and liked him anyway.

 

Instead he was trudging back to an empty apartment, having taken advantage of the time everyone would be gone to clear out everything he'd brought over the years to the ballet studio where he had practiced and helped give lessons in exchange for getting them.  Just a few more blocks and he could close the door on the cold and slush, get under his blankets, and ignore the world until Phichit got back from spending the holidays with a friend in California.  Shoulders bowed, arms weighed down with shopping bags stuffed with worn pointe shoes and old workout clothes, Yuuri pictured his bed in the way that pilgrims thought of the Holy Land.

 

The music lifted him up before he was even aware of it, the familiar strains of  _ Ode to Joy _ from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony joining with his thoughts of Christmas at home and straightening his spine to the posture Minako had rigidly enforced.  His steps got lighter as the music sank into his subconscious, turning to a sort of  _ glissade _ , moving him forward until he found himself landing from a strange  _ cabriole _ , his bags still dangling from his arms held  _ allongé _ , in front of a man playing a violin.

 

The man was bundled up, a hat pulled low over his forehead and a thick scarf tucked into the neck of his buttoned coat, but he looked up in surprise and then in challenge, barely missing a note.  Yuuri froze, listening to the gorgeous sounds the man was coaxing from his instrument despite the freezing weather and noise of people and cars continuing to pass by.  There was a small crowd gathered, light coming from a nearby restaurant that had stayed open and the streetlights decorated with strings of small bulbs, but Yuuri didn't notice them.  All he saw was the way the violinist smiled.

 

***

 

Viktor's heart swooped when he saw the man in the puffy coat approach, weighed down but stepping so lightly, completely under the spell of the music of Viktor's violin.  He wanted more, wanted this man with a red nose and awful striped scarf to give in to the enchantment, and for a second he thought he might not when the man's brow furrowed and his hands tightened to fists.  

 

Any doubt he'd had was mistaken as the man lowered his arms, letting the bags he held slide to the ground as he sank into a  _ plie _ and then leapt into a beautiful  _ grand jet _ _ é _ that seemed as if he was flying.  

 

Viktor wanted to laugh, to sing, because here,  _ this _ was music as he'd loved it, before he'd forgotten how.  The brightening of his soul went into his violin and from there to the dancer and back again, growing in strength as the connection circled between them. Viktor continued to play, playing segments of  _ The Nutcracker _ and other popular ballet pieces, responding to shouted requests for Christmas carols, even brief bursts of his own music, songs from his albums and new fragments composed on the spot.

 

The dancer followed standard choreographies where they existed, or as close as he could get in sneakers that wouldn't support more than a split second  _ en pointe _ , but Viktor preferred the way he moved when it was just his interpretation of the music, pure feeling taking physical form. 

 

People came and went, some dropping money on top of the coat that the dancer had shed when the exertion had warmed him up, but Viktor never wanted to stop.  If the whole of his life consisted of a damp street corner, bounded by half-melted snowbanks and a tiny excuse for a plaza, it would be well worth it if the dancer was there with him.  

 

The end came with the closing of the restaurant behind them, the sudden lack of light making the dancer stumble. Viktor lurched forward to catch him but was waved off as the dancer regained his balance.  The first words spoken between them were in softly accented English. "I'm okay."

 

Viktor's own accent was much harsher as he said, "You are more than that, you are beauty made flesh, but I am grateful you were not harmed."

 

***

 

Yuuri felt like the blush might sear away his skin and bone, leaving a small shred of steam to mark the place where he'd once stood.  "V-Viktor Nikiforov!"

 

"That's me!"  He smiled brilliantly, more beautiful than any of the multitude of photographs and posters that Yuuri had seen of him.  "And you, my most perfect  _ danseur _ ?"

 

"I-- I'm so sorry!  I didn't mean--"  Yuuri scrambled to put his coat on, then hurriedly gathered the bills and coins that had fallen to the ground.  "This is yours, I'm sorry, I'll get it for you."

 

Viktor paused in the middle of wiping his violin with the end of his scarf.  "It is both of ours, if anything.  Perhaps we should use it to get a coffee together?"

 

Swallowing hard, still panting from exertion, Yuuri said, "I don't drink coffee."

 

"Tea, then."  Viktor snapped his violin case shut and picked it up before gathering some of Yuuri's deserted bags.  "Or hot cocoa.  As long as it is warm, yes?"

 

"Yes?"  Yuuri was still holding his hands out, presenting the money for Viktor to take, when he realized that he was trying to offer a rich international superstar  handful of grubby busking proceeds... While allowing said  _ incredibly handsome _ musical genius to stand in the cold, weighed down with what was essentially Yuuri's laundry. "I, I mean, yes!  You should be warm, right away!"

 

Angels would envy Viktor Nikiforov's smile. Yuuri hurried to stuff the money in his pocket and grab his bags, but Viktor wouldn't give up the ones he held.  "I'm afraid I must ask for my mysterious friend to show me where to go, as I am new to this city and don't even know how to return to my hotel."

 

"Oh!"  That made sense - it wasn't that he wanted to spend time with Yuuri, but that he needed help getting around.  "Oh, of course.  There's..."  Yuuri looked from side to side, realizing for the first time how late it was.  

 

Viktor waited patiently as Yuuri ran through the options in his mind, then started walking.  "There's a waffle restaurant near my apartment that should be open, and then you can get a taxi to your hotel after."

 

"I do not think I have ever been to a 'waffle restaurant' before," Viktor said, falling in step next to him.  "Will I like it?"

 

Fretfully, Yuuri said, "Probably not?  It's fried food and sugary things, nothing like the sort of things you'd be used to.  I could-- I could just call a taxi now, I'm sure your hotel has room service."

 

"Oh, but you promised me waffles!"  Viktor switched his violin case to his other hand and wrapped the now-free hand around Yuuri's arm.  "You have our coffee money, surely you won't run away with it like a thief!  Although, maybe you are a criminal and that is why you won't tell me your name?"

 

"Cr-criminal?  No, no, no!"  Yuuri held up a hand in horror, then dug in his pocket for the money.  "I'm not- I would never- I can give you my address, so if there's anything missing you can tell me and I can send it to you."

 

Viktor tightened his grip, leaning in so that his breath fanned over Yuuri's cheek.  "I would rather have your phone number.  And your name."

 

"Katsuki Yuuri!"  He wanted to bang his head against the wall, but it would've involved pushing Viktor off.  "Ah, that is, Yuuri Katsuki.  In English, the names go in the wrong order."

 

"Yuuri."  Viktor repeated his name slowly, and Yuuri felt it like a caress and thought he might spontaneously explode.  "English is a strange language, but I must like it if it allows me to talk to such a charming man."

 

At a complete loss for words, Yuuri stared at him with wide eyes for a long moment before snapping his eyes forward.  "There, just ahead.  The restaurant is on the right, and if I can get my bags..."

 

"Ah, we will drop them off first?"  Viktor showed no sign whatsoever of handing the bags over, or of releasing Yuuri's arm.  "Lead the way, beautiful Yuuri.  I will dry my violin better, and you need to stretch, yes?  And then we will eat together and you will give me your phone number."

 

Yuuri just nodded, unable to form words through the solid block of internal screaming going on.  His apartment building was dingy, with a solid lock on the outside door and a slight smell of cabbage, or possibly old socks, in the stairway.  "It's not much."

 

"My first apartment in Moscow was worse."  Viktor was slightly out of breath, and Yuuri had to stomp hard on the sexy direction his brain was trying to go.  "At least this is mostly clean."

 

"Ah."  Yuuri had no idea what to say, so he stayed quiet as they finished the climb to his floor and his muscles started gently cramping.  "This is it."

 

***

 

Within an hour of meeting Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor knew for certain that flirting with him required more self-confidence and determination than being the featured soloist on opening night with an audience of thousands and a live television crew.  It wasn't that Yuuri was uninterested - the way his eyes were drawn to Viktor's body made that clear, not to mention several flatteringly unintentional comments that left Yuuri blushing and stuttering after he'd made them.  Instead it seemed as if Yuuri was determined to find a way to convince himself, and Viktor, that all of Viktor's attention was strictly friendly or platonic.  It was very frustrating.

 

It was worth it.  Within two hours, Viktor knew he would be signing the contract offered to him by the local orchestra, at least for the six months that Yuuri would remain in the city.  Touring and recording would have to be rearranged, but Yakov would handle it once it was clear that the other alternative was simply cancelling.  Having found Yuuri, who danced like a dream but also laughed like music, even when he was snorting through his nose, who was kind and witty and funny and shy - well, there was no way that any reasonable person could ask Viktor to leave him behind.  Miracles were not something to be thrown away.

 

Just before midnight, Yuuri was unlocking his phone for Viktor to enter his contact information and stopped with a gasp.  "Your birthday!"

 

"Ah, you know my birthday?  Yuuri must be a true fan!"  The blush that brought on was adorable, and Viktor traced over Yuuri's round cheek to see if it felt as warm as it looked.  "And will you give me a present?"

 

Wide-eyed, Yuuri nodded, but said, "I don't have anything worthy to give to you."

 

Tapping his chin with a finger, Viktor pretended to consider the issue.  "If only there was something only you could give, something that would show a sad old man some warmth and affection on--"

 

The kiss was barely more than a brush of the lips, but it shocked Viktor into stillness.  Yuuri was bright red an instant later, hiding his face behind his hands.  "I'm sorry!  I don't know why I did that!"

 

"Because you wanted to make me happy."  Viktor gently took one of Yuuri's hands, holding it in both of his and ducking his head down until he could meet Yuuri's eyes.  "Getting a kiss from you has made this my best birthday in a very long time."

 

Yuuri was still blushing, but his eyes were soft as he peeked at Viktor through his lashes.  Viktor raised Yuuri's hand up to kiss the back of it.  "My beautiful Yuuri, I will take all of your kisses, as soon as you will give them to me."

 

"I-- I suppose you deserve a Christmas present," Yuuri said, inching closer to Viktor on the sofa they had been sharing.  

 

Viktor met him halfway, losing himself in the softness of Yuuri's lips and the feel of hands slipping over his shoulders and threading through his hair.  When they finally pulled away from each other, out of breath and rumpled, Viktor licked his lips.  "I have had many birthdays you missed."

 

With a laugh, Yuuri said, "You'll have to keep track, then, of how many kisses are enough."

 

Despite his very strong suspicion that he would never have enough of Yuuri's kisses, Viktor just hummed in agreement as Yuuri pulled him close to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Phichit, upon his return, is torn between giving Yuuri a high five and updating the roommate contract immediately to restrict naked activities to bedrooms only.
> 
> Viktor composes a ballet for Yuuri, who almost faints on opening night when no less a personage than Lilia Baranovskaya tells him his choreography and performance were beautiful. Minako can't stop crying over it all.
> 
> An accurate count of the number of kisses owed continually eludes Viktor - there are always more gift giving occasions, late penalty multipliers, and various other reasons why Yuuri needs to give him more. Yuuri always delivers.


End file.
